Valentine's Day - St. Patrick's Cathedral
The cathedral was a masterpiece of gothic architecture, filled with white roses and the soft light of a thousand candles. It should have been a sanctuary.
Instead, it felt like a funeral.
"You're shaking, Harvey," Bruce said, adjusting the boutonnière on Dent's lapel in the vestry.
Harvey Dent stood in front of the mirror. He looked pale. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His hand was in his pocket, clutching something tight.
"I'm fine," Dent snapped. He pulled his hand out. He wasn't holding a ring. He was holding his silver dollar.
Flip. Catch.
"Heads," Dent whispered. "We go through with it."
"Harvey," Bruce said, his voice low. "If you're worried about Falcone... the church is secure. Gordon has men at every door. Sebastian is monitoring the choir loft."
"Falcone isn't the problem, Bruce," Dent hissed, turning around. His eyes were wild, bloodshot. "It's the law. It's powerless. Maroni is out on bail today. Did you know that? Bail! After everything he's done!"
He pulled his jacket open. Tucked into his waistband was a .38 snub-nose revolver.
Bruce grabbed his arm. "What are you doing? You can't bring a gun to your own wedding."
"I'm not a victim anymore, Bruce," Dent pulled away. "If Holiday comes... or if Maroni shows his face... I'm going to be ready."
"Give me the gun, Harvey."
"No."
The organ music started. The wedding march.
"It's time," Dent buttoned his jacket, hiding the weapon. He forced a smile—that golden, winning smile that fooled everyone but me. "Let's go get married."
The Ceremony
I stood in the shadows of the choir loft, looking down at the congregation.
Gilda Dent walked down the aisle. She was beautiful, radiant in white silk. But her hands were trembling as she held her bouquet. She knew. She knew the man waiting for her at the altar was cracking.
I scanned the pews.
Captain Gordon was there, looking uncomfortable in a tuxedo. Mayor Garcia was in the front row.
But the back rows... they were the problem.
Sitting in the last pew, uninvited but untouchable, was Sal Maroni. The rival mob boss. He was grinning, chewing on a toothpick. He was there to send a message: I own this town. Even your happiness belongs to me.
I tapped my earpiece.
"Young Master," I whispered. "Maroni is in the building. Sector 4."
Bruce, standing next to Harvey as the Best Man, stiffened. He saw Maroni.
Harvey saw him too.
I saw Harvey's hand twitch toward his waistband.
"Do not engage," I warned over the comms, though only Bruce could hear me. "Not here. Not in front of Gilda."
The priest began the vows.
"Do you, Harvey Dent, take this woman..."
"I do," Harvey said. His eyes were locked on Maroni.
"And do you, Gilda..."
CRASH.
The stained glass window above the altar shattered.
It wasn't a sniper bullet. It was a rose. A single, black rose tied to a brick.
And then, the gunfire started.
It didn't come from the window. It came from the confessional booth.
BANG. BANG.
Two shots rang out.
Sal Maroni's bodyguard dropped, shot in the chest.
"Holiday!" someone screamed.
Chaos erupted. The guests hit the floor. Gilda screamed, dropping her bouquet.
Maroni didn't panic. He pulled a gun from his jacket and fired blindly toward the confessional.
"Kill him!" Maroni roared to his men. "Kill the freak!"
"Get down!" Bruce shoved Gilda and the priest behind the marble altar.
But Harvey didn't hide.
Harvey Dent drew his .38 revolver. He didn't aim at the confessional where the shooter was.
He aimed at Maroni.
"You ruined it!" Harvey screamed, his face twisted in pure hate. "You ruined everything!"
Maroni saw the DA pointing a gun at him. He laughed.
"Do it, lawyer boy! Show us who you really are!"
Harvey cocked the hammer.
I moved.
I dropped from the choir loft, fifty feet down. I landed in the aisle between them, my coat flaring out.
"This is a house of God!" I roared, my voice amplified by demon authority. "There will be no shooting during the sacraments!"
Harvey hesitated, distracted by my sudden appearance.
BANG.
Harvey fired. But his aim was thrown off. The bullet missed Maroni's heart and hit him in the shoulder.
Maroni yelled, spinning around. "He shot me! The DA shot me!"
Gordon and his officers burst in from the vestibule, guns drawn.
"Drop it, Harvey!" Gordon screamed.
Harvey stood there, the smoking gun in his hand. He looked at Maroni bleeding. He looked at the terrified guests. He looked at Gilda, who was sobbing behind the altar.
He realized what he had done. He had crossed the line.
He dropped the gun.
"I... he was armed," Harvey stammered, backing away. "Self-defense. It was self-defense."
"He was armed," Bruce lied, stepping up beside him. He kicked Maroni's gun toward the mobster. "I saw Maroni draw first."
It was a lie to save a friend. But it felt dirty.
I looked toward the confessional booth. The door was swinging open.
Empty.
On the seat inside was a Valentine's Day card.
Be My Valentine.
The killer—Holiday—had vanished again. He had come here not to kill Maroni, but to provoke this exact moment. To prove that even the White Knight of Gotham could be turned into a killer.
The Vestry - 2:00 PM
The wedding was canceled. The guests were gone.
Harvey sat on a wooden bench, his head in his hands. Gilda had been taken home by the police.
"They're going to indict me," Harvey whispered. "Assault with a deadly weapon. Attempted murder."
"No," Bruce said firmly. "Maroni had a gun. You were protecting your wife. I'll get the best lawyers. We'll spin this."
"Spin it?" Harvey laughed. It was a dry, cracking sound. "I shot a man in a church, Bruce. On my wedding day."
He reached into his pocket. He pulled out the coin.
It was scorched. A stray bullet from the chaos had grazed it, scarring one side of the silver face.
Harvey stared at the scarred coin.
"Maybe it was meant to be," Harvey whispered. "Maybe luck isn't blind. Maybe it's just... two-faced."
I stood by the door. I looked at the coin.
The scar on the metal matched the scar forming on Harvey's soul.
"Mr. Dent," I said softly.
Harvey looked up.
"Go home," I said. "Go to Gilda. She needs her husband. Not the District Attorney."
Harvey stood up slowly. He put the coin away.
"You're right, Sebastian. I'm done. I'm going to prosecute Maroni next month. And when I put him away... I'm retiring. I'm done with Gotham."
He walked out.
Bruce watched him go.
"He's going to retire," Bruce said, relieved. "We just have to keep him safe until the trial."
"Young Master," I said, picking up a white rose from the floor. It was trampled, crushed under a boot.
"I fear the trial is exactly where the devil is waiting for him."
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